(I am going to be 62 on 8th September2026; and I’d like to pay my respects to all those who deserve my gratitude, even if I desist from mentioning names. I dedicate this poem to all of you!)
You know I can remind myself of a gratitude moment,
like a movement of an atom in the Universe that is
answering in devotion to the structure of such magnitudinal
magnanimity! Everything is a spark behind a spark, and so, how do
you then acknowledge all that fire that you cannot reckon in its
entirety that is behind you? I am just the beginning of
the thread to unravel the immense spool. And this gratitude
moment is what the leaves of a large sky-scraping tree feel
at the breath of a silently circling wind, because the happiness
is in the sensation of sensitive perception. I am not youthful dilettante
anymore, that I can overlook the pains that other mountains that
surround me took to protect me! My age is replete with the preciousness
of beauty in thankfulness; and these are all the reflections of Godhood
conversing with each spirit in the decorum of the ball bounced against the wall
that makes its way back into your hands. Gratitude is gratitude coming back at you!
Even when it seems like the world is ripping at your seams, scratching out
your core! This moment of prescience and afterthought is like the straw
that rescues you from the swamp; and you are stilled with this overwhelming
strong sensation, that you perceive, that there is no flaw in the equation of the breeze
of time and destiny! You take all that invisibly visible love like a warm blanket
that you can snuggle under. And it can be so present even if it feels like it is
absent! Nothing must take away the immensity of pride of place in your soul of those who
sacrifice for you. And nothing can steal love from you, even the grief of loss. It is always calling
when it seems like it is not even a phone call away. And its distance is never daunting!
You can feel the stars pledge away into the walls of your abode, if you choose to listen,
as if true love, siblings, friends, some honourable leaders were as easily there at your fingertips
as the keyboard. The sky, itself, is the roofy refuge like the father who you lost. The earth reminding
you of the mother who is no more! I don’t need manna falling from the skies for
the evidence that the eyes that care are always there! Why should I regret a life of sheer
difficulty, when it, itself, is symbolic of the glorious pastime of sustenance and survival in faith
and belief. The beauty of perspective is that it is malleable to perceive beauty and dignity,
honestly! I’ll just be simple about expectations for the future. There is never defeat even
if you have the irrepressible feeling that you’ve lost out on so much!
montes-musings.blog 